


Studlier

by elektravondemon



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, horny robots, mentions: megatron knockout breakdown cliffjumper, only because the synthen clouded ratchet's mind a little, raf and op are in this story but dont speak, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektravondemon/pseuds/elektravondemon
Summary: There were several words to describe Ratchet: grouchy, tired, old, compassionate. With the Synth-En, he becomes stronger, faster, and studlier. Arcee wants to prove that last one.Takes place during "Stronger, Faster".  It's smut with a dash of pining. (Shitty summary, I know, but I don't care)
Relationships: Arcee/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Studlier

**Author's Note:**

> ::italicized:: = comm link
> 
> italicized = thought
> 
> I don't think anyone has done this yet. enjoy the porn

Confused, Arcee exited the base’s makeshift med-bay, mind still processing that the two-wheeler had just received a checkup from Optimus Prime himself. She certainly held no qualms about her leader being the one to administer the simple tests, ensuring Arcee did not receive any permanent damage from the Autobots’ last scuffle with their enemies.

The only reason Arcee even _survived_ , despite chasing after Knockout and Breakdown by her lonesome and against orders, was because Ratchet, of all bots, had swooped in, defeating all of the Decepticon drones in what seems like the blink of an optic.

It was impressive, to say the least.

Arcee only met Ratchet only a short while ago, just after herself and her late partner, Cliffjumper, arrived to Earth. While she didn’t know the CMO very well, she knew he was against going into the field unless absolutely necessary. One of his last times in battle, Ratchet and Optimus faced an army of undead Cybertronian wariors, courtesy of Megatron and his Dark Energon. She internally grimaced at the memory of Ratchet returning to base with a broken arm.

Arcee felt her spark clench at the remembrance of her fallen partner. Cliffjumper’s death was recent, but felt almost like a lifetime ago.

Realizing Arcee was walking slowly and with a slight hunch, she straightened up, making her way into the main part of the base. There, she was greeted with the sight of Bumblebee conversing with Rafael and their commander at the ground bridge controls, regal as ever.

She briefly wondered how Optimus beat her to the main room but then remembered that he had departed the exam room first. And Arcee was left alone with her thoughts.

Optimus Prime was certainly no experienced field medic, but his basic knowledge of first aid was useful when Ratchet was otherwise engaged. Of course, the definition of ‘engaged’ is relative. In this case ‘engaged’ meant tossing Bulkhead into a wall like the ex-Wrecker would do with his lobbing ball.

The Prime held reservations about his CMO using the Synth-En on himself, before putting it through the proper testing process. He certainly couldn’t deny the seemingly promising results, however.

Arcee approached to the side of the Autobot commander, watching the internal security cam footage, broadcasting live Ratchet’s newfound strength. The bots and human in the main room heard the resounding crash more than felt it, but the structure of the base had definitely felt it, if the brief flicker of the overhead lights was any indication.

The blue femme did not hesitate to check on her fellow Autobots, the yellow scout following right after her. They already knew what had occurred but the question still seemed necessary. “What was _that_?” The shock was clear. So was Bulkhead’s annoyance.

Arcee wasn’t paying much attention to the mechs next to her. She was on autopilot, visually aware of Ratchet trying to challenge Bumblebee to a race, who had quickly turned down the offer, intimidated solely by the fact that the medic made a Bulkhead-size hole in the wall. Speaking of, who was supposed to clean that up?

Ratchet started to stalk in the direction of the main room, passing off a short, playful(?) insult at the youngest Autobot. Arcee’s consciousness refocused as Ratchet started to walk past her, sporting a sly smirk, nonchalantly tossing a “How’s it hummin’?” without waiting for any response from the speechless femme.

“Did he just…?” Arcee almost stuttered, not even stopping her body from turning to watch him leave.

Bulkhead stepped closer, rubbing the back of his helm, soothing no doubt a newly formed headache. “Stronger, faster, studlier,” the green Autobot grumbled.

* * *

Arcee sat on her berth, had left her comrades to mingle some time ago, pondering the recent behavior of the team’s medic. It had been one thing to show off his physical prowess and the apparent urge to burn rubber, but a completely different thing to throw a casual pickup line with no follow-up.

Team Prime couldn’t afford casual. That hasn’t stopped Arcee before, though. And now Ratchet.

No one necessarily _minded_ casual, it just was not recommended.

Arcee has had casual before, everyone has. It was not a secret that she and Cliffjumper shared a berth sometimes. Optimus didn’t approve but never made an attempt to cease their activities. As long as they were smart about it.

Besides, sometimes one just needed a good frag.

The smallest Autobot felt heat fill her faceplates. She certainly wasn’t insulted at the flirtation but it definitely caught her off guard. Something about it, despite its casualness, raised her core temperature. Arcee wasn’t sure if it was the unexpectedness of it or the fact it’s been a while since she has had any kind of attention like that. Or maybe it was because it was _Ratchet_ who gave the devilish smirk that almost sent sparks throughout her body.

How about D, all of the above?

Arcee heard her vents hitch and a message crossed her visage that stated that her interfacing protocols were beginning to kick in.

Reaching a tentative hand to ghost against her panel, Arcee hissed at the heat. _It had truly been too long_.

Her fingers lightly danced across the metal, enjoying the tease. Bringing up her other arm, Arcee pressed a servo against her audio, ready to comm Ratchet, then paused. _What would I even say?_

It was no surprise that Arcee harbored trust issues. War did that. It was even worse that she felt the need to drop the possibility of having casual affairs, because that’s worked _so well_ in the past.

After Cliffjumper’s death, Arcee temporarily considered having another casual affair but shoved the idea to the back of her processor, partly due to the reason of having such a limited array of choices. Optimus and Bulkhead had risk of injury, not that she was entirely against the size differences; Bumblebee, while she doubted he remained a virgin, she thought of him like a little brother; Ratchet had centuries on any of them and Arcee felt that there was nothing wrong with an age difference, within reason of course. Arcee found her comrades each attractive in their own way and had almost propositioned Ratchet once, after a couple cubes of high grade, but ultimately decided not to when she figured that he would turn her down. He didn’t seem like the type that enjoyed casual interfacing.

That assumption changed with the flirt. Ratchet seemed interested, in some way, even if his judgment was clouded by the synthetic energon.

It was enough for Arcee to proceed to contact Ratchet, on a private frequency. It wasn’t necessary to broadcast her intentions to the rest of Team Prime now, was it?

_::Ratchet?::_ His name came out more meekly than she intended, but it would be more likely to get his attention.

_::Yes, Arcee?::_ Ratchet’s voice was his usual roughness but Arcee knew that the Synth-En had not circulated out of his systems yet. She picked up on an undertone of huskiness that normally didn’t present itself.

Her glossa searched for the words that seemed to suddenly jump ship, unsure of how to phrase the offer that would most likely have the least backlash. Arcee was faced with rejection before but she would not be able to handle it at this point. She felt her internals starting to burn. She conjured the image of Ratchet using Bulkhead as a remodeling tool and that thought caused to clench a fist hovering over her panel.

_::Arcee, are you alright?::_ Worry taking over his processor.

_::Yeah::_ Arcee gritted out. _::Acually…can you come by really quick?::_

_::What seems to be the problem?::_ Ratchet practically demanded. Was Arcee still injured? Gathering his medical bag that he keeps next to his own berth, he left his room and started making his way towards the quarters that the blue motorcycle resided in.

Arcee heard the muffled clutter of his tools over the comm-link frequency and used that to her advantage. _::I’m still a bit sore, I just want to make sure Optimus didn’t miss anything::_ A half-truth. She had every confidence in the Prime’s ability as a healer. But it still doesn’t hurt to get a thorough examination from a, ahem, real medic.

_Good thing I grabbed my kit_ , he thought. _::I’ll be there in a moment. I’m stopping by the medical bay to get med-grade energon::_

_::Okay, no rush::_ Arcee internally retched at the mention of med-grade energon. Tasted like slag but was unfortunately necessary. Even though it was just normal energon, it also contains additives to help any repairs the body needs to do progress faster. Because of the additives, it tasted awful. Arcee would take the med-grade, especially if Ratchet thought it was imperative.

Ratchet wasn’t deaf and knew Arcee did not want him to rush on her account but he didn’t see the point of dawdling. He needs to tend to his patient.

That ‘moment’ passed by slow for Arcee, anxiety gripping her processor. A firm knock at her door and she hopped off her berth to open it for her expected guest. She stepped aside to allow the good doctor inside and the door’s mechanisms allowed it to slide shut.

The berthroom was far from spacious. The berth itself was average, big enough to fit a few bots of Arcee’s size on it at once, against the right wall; a table and chair that had datapads laying atop them at the left wall, and a small computer that doubles as a television.

Ratchet dragged the wheeled chair closer to the berth after setting his bag on the table, gently disturbing the datapads.

“I thought you’d be busy?”

He responded with a half-grunt. “I would be, but Optimus insisted on taking over my duties for the time being. He must’ve noticed I was getting restless, especially after…” He trailed off, remembering the adrenaline coursing through his body from sparring with Bulkhead. “I actually asked if I could just go for a drive and he denied it, claiming I should find something to do in the base. Probably wants to make sure I don’t carve any holes in a canyon.”

Arcee couldn’t resist to chuckle.

Aside from greeting Arcee with a small smile when he first walked in, he didn’t bother to look at her, prepping his kit. At one point, he gestured towards her berth, “Feel free to get comfortable.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. Arcee stalked over to the berth, plopping herself down on the cushions, not averting her gaze and she watched the medic prep the med-grade. She couldn’t suppress the shudder of disgust. Only then, Ratchet turn to face her, an amused smirk spread across his faceplates. “Abhorrent, I know, but necessary. Especially if any damage you have starts to take a toll on you.”

“I feel fine, physically, just want to make sure there aren’t any further injuries in the long run,” short, lithe legs softly swinging back and forth.

Ratchet nodded, understanding, turning back to watch the energon cube turn a deeper blue than the familiar neon baby blue. “What did Optimus say when he looked you over?” He grabbed his scanner from his bag, satisfied enough with the med-grade, and approached the two-wheeler with the cube and scanner in both hands. He placed the cube next to Arcee. He didn’t miss her frown as she looked at it. Then she looked up at him.

Cyan optics swirled with purple met with slime green ones. Arcee tried finding the fire that possessed Ratchet’s optics like earlier. There was something but almost nothing.

Breaking the optic contact, Arcee looked towards the ceiling for a second, thinking of an answer. “He mainly said to take it easy but I should be back to kicking the scrap out of ‘Cons in no time,” she punctuated with a confident expression.

Ratchet enjoyed Arcee’s fire. Normally, he would find that sort of determination annoying. The shoot-first-ask-questions-later mentality was highly dangerous and had led a fair share of good soldiers to severe injuries or death. However, the blue femme made it work. Sometimes.

The white and orange mech sat in the chair, spinal strut straight, making both bots equal in height with Arcee just a hair higher than him as she slouched. He glided his scanner over her arms and servos first. When the scanner remained silent, the medic took it as a cue to continue over her legs that had abruptly stopped swinging when he sat down so she wouldn’t kick him. So polite.

After a suffering silence of less than an Earth minute, Ratchet spoke up, almost startling the femme in front of him. “Well, aside from a raised core temperature that can be reversed with recharge, your systems’ diagnostics seem top-notch considering,” he picked up the cube, which she completely forgot about, and held it in-between them.

Arcee just stared at the cube for a moment, chassis in-venting with the nausea in her fuel tanks. Her optics darted to his servo. Easily bigger than her entire face, she noticed all the joints of his fingers and the minute wear and tear from his lifetime of being a medic. Arcee knew that every bot’s servos contain sensors to check vitals but medics’ servos have more in-depth sensors. _Medics and their servos_.

Arcee slowly reached up with both hands to cradle the small cube but Ratchet’s servo was in the way. Her fingers grazed his and she heard his vents whir.

She looked up to smirk at him, preparing a retort. Then she noticed his bright green optics had darkened. Whether it was from embarrassment or arousal, she wasn’t sure, but she’d hoped it was both.

Sneaking in her nimble digits underneath the cube, making her the back of her servos brushed his palm; she retracted it and watched his hand twitch and curl. _Delicious_.

Arcee brought a corner to her lips, optics bearing into Ratchet’s, forcing him to watch. His mouth was slightly parted, panting, cooling systems starting to whine. One of his servos gripped the arm of the chair and the servo that was previously holding the cube shot down to grip his knee joint tightly. That didn’t go unnoticed. Then she set the cube right back down where it was before.

Servos laying atop both of her thighs, she leaned a bit forward, and directed the heat she had been keeping trapped and vented it towards Ratchet, making sure he felt it breeze across his hands.

Optics shot open, green optics brightening at the bold move, and stood so suddenly he almost toppled over. _Might’ve been too much at once, especially for his servos_.

“So,” Arcee dipped her voice lower, “did you end up finding anything to do yet?” Her optics trailed up and down his frame. Ratchet was undoubtedly attractive; there wasn’t much difference in their heights but his bulk made up for it in body mass.

Ratchet didn’t miss the way she checked him out. He did the same to her when she was dangling her legs before he sat down in front of her. _Those gorgeous legs. What I wouldn’t give to have those legs around my…_

His vocalizer reset a couple times. Was she flirting? Was she just taking advantage of his new behavior?

Ratchet’s shock and awe quickly got replaced with confidence, when the heat of her venting traveled over his servos, down his abdomen, and throughout his interface panel. He couldn’t stop the fierce rev of his engine when Arcee sat back on her servos, when the light made her armor shine in a different way, accentuating her curves.

He became used to the smirk that donned his faceplates; it was normal for him now.

With an almost predatory stalk towards her, she shifted backwards a little; legs still over the edge of her berth, letting him situate himself between them.

Large, silver servos found their way to Arcee’s hips, beginning to massage the armor there. The blue femme let her helm fall back as Ratchet pulled her aft closer to the edge, making their panels gently grind. Arcee couldn’t hold back the moan.

It took all of Ratchet’s self-control to not spin her around and frag her hard and fast.

He was still planning to do that, though.

Ratchet noticed Arcee’s servos fisting the blanket, panting, and then an idea popped into his processor.

“Y’know,” the medic leaned down to drawl into the femme’s audio, “you probably should still take that med-grade.” Arcee shivered when he pressed a kiss to her neck.

“W-what?”

Knowing her processor was faltering at his ministrations, he stood to almost his full height. Keeping his left servo on her right hip, half-pinning her to the berth cushions, he reached for the med-grade energon with his right servo and brought it in-between them once more. He waited a second for her optics to catch up, and then proceeded to pour the viscous liquid over her frame, starting with her chestplates, then the protoform of her abdomen, and tilted the rest of of the energon onto her panel.

Arcee half-screamed, the cool liquid splashed onto her almost steaming frame, chassis heaving heavily now, servos scrambling to grab purchase at Ratchet’s shoulders.

Ratchet sat back down in the chair and easily threw her short legs over his shoulders. Arcee’s servos grabbed at his helm when he started to suck off the energon from her panel. Her legs hugged him closer, practically thrusting against his face.

Optics never wavering from watching her faceplates twist at the sudden change of temperature, he grunted, left servo still holding her hip. It didn’t take much licking at her panel before it retracted, revealing her glistening valve. Ratchet didn’t hesitate, diving back in, to swirl his gloss around her opening, purposely avoiding her node. He relished in her squirming.

Ratchet withdrew, methodically moving his helm across her the entirety of Arcee’s groin area, then moved to begin to gently suck, kiss, and bite at her inner right thigh. Her helm finally thudded against the berth, back arching and thigh trembling.

_Primus, it really had been a while._

Ratchet’s spike cover popped open on its own accord when he realized that Arcee had overloaded.

Brushing the now empty energon cube from the berth, Ratchet slinked an arm under Arcee’s back and situated them where he was hovering over her and they were lying lengthways across her berth. His painfully hard spike lay against her hip.

Clouded judgment be damned, he willed himself to not enter her until she begged him to.

Only _then_ would he start to ravish her.

The jostling of her sensitive frame caused her to moan but she did not have the strength to help Ratchet. She refocused when she felt his spike pulse against her body. She looked down and… _oh slag_.

Arcee gulped, optics darting to find Ratchet’s face, shyness overtaking her processor. All doubts seemed to wash away when he pressed a passionate kiss to her lips. Fluttering her optics, she closed them, reveling in the dance their glossas created. She wrapped both arms around his neck, a couple fingers coasting up and down an audial fin and another two fingers pinching his chevron.

That was the final straw.

Breaking the kiss a little too harshly, Ratchet’s left servo grabbed her right leg, lifting it up to the side. A quick tilt of his hips and his head nudged at her entrance. Arcee was more than enough lubricated; the med-grade certainly helped.

Arcee’s optics rolled into the back of her head. Ratchet nestled his face into her neck as he breached her. Despite their wonderful foreplay, her valve had no preparation and therefore resisted a little. The blue femme relaxed more when her lover mouthed at her neck cables and then started to suck on the metal of her chestplates. When she was distracted, Ratchet seized the chance to enter her fully, almost shaking at the tight, wet heat that enveloped him.

Arcee’s shout blended into a whimper and arched against Ratchet. The movement caused his spike to be sucked in a little bit deeper.

“Primus, you’re tight.” The CMO growled through gritted denta. He wasn’t going to last long; with the combination of the synthetic energon raging through his veins, along with just how long it’s been since he sank into a tight valve and he could feel the irregular ripples of the two-wheelers valve, sealing the guarantee of their overloads.

“You’re b-big,” Arcee choked out. Deciding not to waste another second, Ratchet’s self-control relinquished, hammering into the blue femme below him, drinking in her gasps of pleasure. He managed to lift himself up enough to watch her, bright green optics drinking in the lust that enveloped in hers.

He felt her fingers dig into his back armor. He kissed her again and she screamed into his mouth, her second overload more powerful than her first. Her valve gripped him even tighter and his hips stuttered in their rhythm, finally crashing over the edge of his climax, shouting against her derma. Hot and thick transfluid filled her to the brim and he held himself still, enjoying the feel of her valve milking him.

Propping himself up on his trembling arms, Ratchet studied Arcee’s faceplate. She hadn’t been knocked into recharge but she was close to it.

He smiled, then winced and he withdrew, watching the combined fluids of their coupling seep onto her sheets.

Making a mental note to wash her berth coverings, he climbed off the berth and searched for a cloth to wipe down their frames. When he finished, he began to gather his supplies, aging joints protesting. After he was finally done, though it only took a minute or two, Ratchet returned to the blue femme’s berth, climbing over her and laid on his side, back facing the wall. With both arms, he pulled Arcee’s gently panting frame closer, basking in the afterglow.

Both satisfied bots fell into recharge with dazed smiles, with Arcee’s final thought being: _Yeah he’s definitely studlier, alright._

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up being longer than i intended
> 
> took over four hours just to write it. another hour to edit, proofread, and post cuz i forgot how ao3 works
> 
> writer's block got lifted recently but we'll see how long that lasts
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


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